


Pretty.

by orphan_account



Series: poe stuff [2]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: F/M, Hair Braiding, narith is a meanie herself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 02:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21228071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: watcher braids aloth's hair and harasses him in the process





	Pretty.

**Author's Note:**

> warning: dont be this mean to your elves, especially at home

Truth is, Narith likes Aloth. She can even say she likes him A-lot. Yeah. There are parts of him that annoy her, his stubborn refusal to listen to rationality, his bottled up emotions, and the way he sometimes lets Iselmyr take control of his body just to go on a sexual rampage for a reasons she cannot fathom. She's not jealous. She never will be, because there's nothing to be jealous about: she in love with the idea of toying with him, not with the elf himself, but she's still annoyed, because that's just. Unreasonable. And unreasonable isn't something he does.  
  
Moreover, sex with random people leads to a whole load of nasty consequences. Narith firmly decided the moment Aloth catches something, she would never lay a finger on him aside from a friendly touch here and there.  
  
On the other hand, she thinks of fucking him as a friendly gesture too.  
  
Nevermind. She still likes him. He's as clean as he can possibly be after a thorough bath and a couple of humiliating medical check-ups. Narith braids his hair, marvelling at the texture, at the colour, at the feeling of long, silky strands that easily slip through her fingers as she works. She likes his hair, it suits him as no clothing could. If it was acceptable, she'd make him grow it as long as it will and walk around in nothing but silver jewelry, raven-black hair loose around his skinny shoulders. He startles every time she accidentally brushes his skin, as if the contact burns. Maybe it does; Narith, though, feels nothing short of ordinary.  
  
His skin is silky smooth too. Bruises too easily, but so pretty, too little scars, too little colour and so much opportunity. Narith croons under her breath as she weaves an embroidered ribbon into the braid; Aloth turns to her a little, blush high on his cheeks and a look of disapproval marring his otherwise pretty, smooth, noble face.  
  
"Is that really necessary, Narith?" he asks, as he warily eyes the ribbon, the complex design of the braid itself. "If you don't mind me saying, I think it's a little too much."

She tugs on his hair as an answer, lightly, but it's enough to get his attention. He winces and tries so swat her hands away. Huh. Temperamental today, isn't he?  
  
"It's pretty, just like you are. I don't see a problem," she returns to her work without further ado, tying the end of the braid with another ribbon, this time not only embroidered, but also beaded, tiny pices of stained glass mixing with the longest strands.  
  
Aloth huffs, offended, and tries to swat her hands away again, this time with little success, but little is better than nothing, right? Narith grins, though he can't see it, and places her hands on his waist instead, rubs tiny circles into his skin with her thumbs, just at the places he likes the most. His spine gets rigid.  
  
"You're always calling me pretty, that's so rude," his voice is cold and more than a little angry, but she's unfazed by that. "As if I'm nothing else but a pretty little thing."  
  
Narith considers that, and her rationality can't be as fast as her cruel stoicism, but they can run in pair too, delivering the words to her mouth at surprising speed. She doesn't remove her hands away, neither does she remove herself from his side; instead, she leans in, nosing along his hairline, breathing in the weak herbal smell of the soap he favours. Somewhere underneath that grassy bullshit lurks the scent of the hair itself, of his skin, his own, the scent that's nothing more than a couple of notes here and there even her strong sense of smell can't always catch. She chases what she can smell, going lower and lower until she's pressing her nose into his temple, her lips behind his long, elegant, sharply shaped, ear. He shivers a little, but refuses to relax. Understandable.  
  
"You are a pretty little thing, though," as she speaks, she presses her lips closer to his skin, her words sliding down his throat. "So pretty. I like it."  
  
"And you... like nothing else about me?" Aloth sounds uncertain more than angry, but manages to keep the bite in his words even when Narith kisses the sensitive spot.  
  
She pretends to think this over even when the answer literally lies on the tip of her tongue. Narith uses it not to speak, but to lick a stripe from the hollow of elf's throat almost to his hairline; he shivers again, more noticeable this time.  
  
"I like your ears too," that's as straightforward as she gets, rude and definitely crass, but Aloth knows he won't get anything else from her, so even if the words don't calm him down, they certainly give him something to wonder about. "They're so long, so cute."

"Just the usual elf ears, you should know that," he's blushing hard, both from anger and embarrassment of being fetishized like that.

"Cute," she laughs as she presses more kisses to his neck, and finally he gives in, relaxing into the embrace, welcoming her attention. Attention is the thing he likes the most, even if he can't admit it even to himself, but Narith knows it already.

She likes the fact she can push Aloth around, make him do the things, claim him as her own and he'll welcome that for all the intimate attention it gives him, for the thrill of being dominated and put on the place he thinks he deserves. Narith isn't a good person, so she wouldn't help him with myriads of his worries, troubles and delusions about himself, about her, their relationship, the life in general and everything in-between. No, she'd just take what she wants from him, and he can either pick up where she started, or walk away. She may be evil, but she's not a complete monster. The way Aloth surrenders himself to her will again and again just like now is quite telling in itself, though.

Narith listens to his quickened breathing, runs her palm up his side, slowly, as if she's counting his ribs. He squirms, ticklish, and when she closes her mouth around the very tip of his ear with a gentle bite, he moans softly, pleasure from one source mixing with discomfort from the other in extra stimulation. She likes riling him up, she knows that; Aloth is helpless anyway. She was also honest about liking his ears. Perfect shape, perfect sensitivity, everything about them is perfect, from delicate curved lines to the endearing way they perk up when he's heard something curious. Something about him, usually so reserved, so secretive, not having complete control of his body language turns Narith on.

Maybe that's why she likes riling him up.

Also his ears are really cute. She bites it again to gather more evidence to that. The ear twitches on it's own volition.

Yeah. _Cute_.


End file.
